


fate rests heavily on our shoulders (but I'd carry it all for you)

by queerofthedagger



Series: Merlin Stories [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arthur Finds Out About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Arthur's POV, Don't copy to another site, Episode: s05e03 The Death Song of Uther Pendragon, Gwen is a Good Friend, M/M, Mentioned Guinevere/Lancelot - Freeform, Merlin is a Little Shit, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerofthedagger/pseuds/queerofthedagger
Summary: “And you know what?” Merlin goes on, his voice low and menacing in a way Arthur barely recognises, “Arthur is a so much better King than you ever could be, in spite of what a horrible father you were. He’s kind and just, and his people love him so much more. It’s not magic that has poisoned this kingdom, it was your fear – no, your guilt that you couldn’t bear to live with, like the coward you are. All you’ve lost, you only have yourself to blame for.”Arthur doesn’t need to see his father’s face to picture the fury perfectly. As it is, his head is spinning too badly to process most of what was said, the words tumbling over each other and becoming blurred.His father doesn’t seem to have such problems.Or: When Merlin confronts Uther's ghost, he finds that he has a few more things to tack onto his rant. It really depends on who you ask if it’s unfortunate or not that for once, Arthur doesn’t stay unconscious for just the right amount of time.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merlin Stories [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1728040
Comments: 56
Kudos: 984





	fate rests heavily on our shoulders (but I'd carry it all for you)

**Author's Note:**

> This is honestly one of my favourite episodes, and so of course, I had to do a fic for it. The confrontation between Merlin and Uther alone would've sold me, although Merlin gets to say a few more things here. (Honestly, if I didn't hate Uther before - anyway. We all know this.)
> 
> As for this fic - most of canon happened, except that Gwen got some actual agency of her own, and Lancelot didn't run away like an over-noble idiot, so they're happily married and alive. As they should be.
> 
> Please do not repost my work anywhere or list it on goodreads (or similar sites).

Arthur’s head is pounding fiercely when he regains consciousness, but the memories as of why are sharp and painful. As if his father didn’t just knock him out because he doesn’t approve of how Arthur’s ruling.

He knows that he should get up, should make sure that Uther’s attempt on his life remains unsuccessful, but the mere thought seems to make his limbs even heavier. Maybe, if he just keeps his eyes closed and doesn’t move, this will all turn out to be nothing but a nightmare.

That his father would go far and beyond for his kingdom and his legacy is par for the course – he had always been willing to send Arthur on quest after quest no matter how life-threatening if he deemed it beneficial. But this – _this_ , even Arthur couldn’t have predicted in his darkest hours of self-doubt.

“I’m much more than a servant.”

 _Merlin_. Of course Merlin would’ve followed him, would snarl at his father with indignation and fury dripping from his every word like he has absolutely no regard for his own life.

As if Uther would think twice about killing him.

Carefully, Arthur cracks an eye open to assess the situation; Merlin’s back is turned to him but unfortunately, he’s directly in his father’s line of sight. Just as he thinks ‘to hell with it,’ a bench flies towards Merlin – only to stop mid-air and crash to the floor.

Arthur freezes, and there’s a beat of silence before Uther snarls. “You have magic!”

But that’s ridiculous. Merlin can’t have magic, can’t have hidden from everyone for so long, wouldn’t have hidden it from _Arthur_. There must be another reason and in a second, Merlin will laugh, will –

“I was born with it.”

Merlin’s voice is defiant, unforgiving, as if he has waited years to spit these exact words into Uther’s face even though there’s still a faint tremble to it. Even from his spot on the cold floor, Arthur can see the tension in Merlin’s shoulders as his hands ball into fists at his sides.

Arthur’s heart is beating in his throat and his ears are ringing so much that he barely catches his father’s next words about how it was him who made Merlin his servant.

“Even while you were King, there was magic in the heart of Camelot.”

Merlin’s words are clear, cutting easily through the too familiar sense of betrayal. Arthur wants to get up, wants to scream and shout at him to _shut up_ because he doesn’t think he can take this, doesn’t think he can live with the knowledge that the one person he thought he could trust has been going behind his back from the very start. But he’s frozen and as useless as his father claims him to be.

“And you know what?” Merlin goes on, his voice low and menacing in a way Arthur barely recognises, “Arthur is a so much better King than you ever could be, in spite of what a horrible father you were. He’s kind and just, and his people love him so much _more_. It’s not magic that has poisoned this kingdom, it was your fear – no, your _guilt_ that you couldn’t bear to live with, like the coward you are. All you’ve lost, you only have yourself to blame for.”

Arthur doesn’t need to see his father’s face to picture the fury perfectly. As it is, his head is spinning too badly to process most of what was said, the words tumbling over each other and becoming blurred.

His father doesn’t seem to have such problems. “How dare you! This clearly is your doing, you have enchanted him to – “

Merlin’s laughter cuts him off, but it’s mirthless and taunting, and it makes Arthur’s skin crawl.

“Don’t you see how pathetic you sound? Even you know that you were a father so terrible, you can’t believe that your son is a better man on his own merit, has brought this kingdom further in four years of his reign than you did in all those decades of yours. I would never use my magic against Arthur, not if my life depended on it,” Merlin says, his voice turning quiet towards the end.

It might be naïve, but Arthur believes him; wants to believe it so badly that he doesn’t care what his father would say, doesn’t care if it’s going to lead to his eventual ruin. Anything is better than thinking Merlin a traitor. It’s not enough to calm the sense of betrayal and hurt, but it suffices to make him flinch when Uther roars in anger.

Nothing happens. There’s the sound of words he can’t hope to understand coming from Merlin, and then silence settles over the throne-room, heavy and stifling.

Light steps echo over the floor, and Arthur keeps his eyes shut and his breathing as even as possible when he feels Merlin crouch down next to him, carefully turning Arthur’s head to check him over.

There’s a soft sigh, and Merlin’s fingers linger on Arthur’s temple for a moment before he withdraws and leaves the room.

Arthur allows himself to stay where he is, trying to breathe through the tightness of his chest and to get a grip on his whirring emotions. It’s only vaguely successful – his mind seems set on replaying a hundred situations over the years between him and Merlin, trying to pinpoint moments where he must’ve missed the obvious.

It takes ridiculously little time to stumble upon instances that don’t add up, for questions and doubts to grow, only worsening the weight in his stomach.

If he thought that his father’s ghost trying to kill him made for a horrible day, it’s nothing compared to this, and he clenches his teeth against the sudden urge to either scream or cry.

Shaking his head to get rid of the thoughts sends a spark of stinging pain down his neck, but he ignores it in favour of pushing himself to his feet and striding out of the throne room. He has to send his father back to where he belongs, and then he can deal with his treasonous manservant.

He’s acutely aware of the voice in the back of his mind urging him to hurry, to make sure that his father doesn’t get to Merlin first, and he’s less surprised than he probably should be that the idea of any harm coming to Merlin is still as upsetting as it always was.

The castle is silent, allowing him to follow the sound of raised voices until he reaches the armoury, and his breath stutters in his chest when he spots Merlin pinned against the door by two spears, his father standing in front of him with a raised sword.

Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he reminds himself that this is necessary, that it’s not betrayal on his father after everything he did over the last few days, and raises the horn to his lips.

The pleading words of his father to not do this fall flat, for the most part.

“Merlin has – “ Uther tries, but he vanishes before he can finish.

Arthur stares at Merlin, nearly choking on the tears that are threatening to spill over, on all the things that are suddenly different between them, and he whispers what Uther didn’t get to say.

“Magic.”

If there was any doubt, it vanishes the second Merlin’s eyes widen and his expression is flooded with fear.

“Arthur, I’m – “ Merlin chokes out, and there’s none of the grim determination left that he showed to Uther. Instead, his eyes are brimming with tears, his hands trembling at his sides, and Arthur nearly laughs because his first instinct is still to make it better.

Turning his head away, he closes his eyes briefly and tries to keep his voice even. “I really thought – “ he starts but bites his tongue before he can say more.

There has never been a worse time to consider his most closely guarded secret. But looking at Merlin, it suddenly becomes real, the full scope of what this revelation means, and he blames all that for starting the sentence at all.

He really did think something had started to change over the last year, and his knees nearly buckle at the realisation of how wrong he must’ve been.

At least it explains why he always got the impression that Merlin pulled away whenever they got close to the precipice of changing their relationship into something different; he’s just not sure if that makes him glad or angrier.

“What?” Merlin asks quietly, pulling Arthur back into the present, and he exhales in a rush.

“It doesn’t matter.” It comes out sharper than intended, and Merlin flinches in response.

Arthur takes a moment to assess him, to really look at him, and he instantly wishes he didn’t. The terror is pouring off of him in waves, and he doesn’t think he has ever seen Merlin this afraid, no matter what insane enemy they had to face.

They keep staring at each other, a silent impasse that at least Arthur is afraid to break because he has no idea where they’re supposed to go from here. The only thing he knows for certain is that the mere thought of execution makes him nauseous, but banishment or even release from his service is just as inconceivable.

“Did you mean it?” he finally asks, snippets of Merlin’s confrontation with his father still drifting through his mind, and he knows that he shouldn’t trust a word out of Merlin’s mouth because apparently, he is a much better liar than Arthur ever expected him to be, but he needs to know anyway.

Merlin swallows, his fingers curling around the speers still pinning him to the door until his knuckles turn white. “Mean what?”

“That you’d never use your – “ he stops, the word getting stuck in his throat, and he takes a deep breath before he forces himself to go on. “That you’d never use your magic against me, even if your life depended on it.”

“Of course,” Merlin answers instantly, a small crease forming between his brows as if the answer had to be obvious, but then he reels back – or tries to, his head hitting the door in his back. “You heard all that?”

In spite of himself, Arthur snorts and shakes his head. “How else do you think I found out? Never knew you had such strong opinions on my father’s parenting skills.”

Merlin winces again and lowers his head while rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, and his voice is trembling again. “My magic – I only ever used it for you, Arthur, and I wanted to tell you, so many times but – “ he trails off and offers a shrug that doesn’t explain anything.

Arthur can relate to the utter loss of words and isn’t that ironic.

He can feel his own legs tremble and his blood is still rushing in his ears. Anger is simmering underneath his skin and warring with the urge to make this right, or forget about it, or tell Merlin that it doesn’t matter.

None of those options appears particularly smart right now. “You – I think I need… time,” he finally presses out, his voice flat and exhausted even to his own ears.

Merlin’s head flies up and he nods before a grimace twists his features. “Just – I know I’m not really in the position to ask but – I – are you going to try and execute me?” he rushes out, and there’s conflict on his face that makes Arthur wonder if he’d try to leave if Arthur said yes.

The question sends another pang through his chest though and he fists a hand into his hair. “Do you seriously think I would?”

A shaky smile pulls at the corner of Merlin’s mouth and his eyes soften. “No, not really. You always were a better man than your father.”

It’s Arthur turn to grimace and he turns his head away. “Not enough for you to tell me, it seems,” he says with a sigh, and before he can say anything else that he might regret later, he turns on his heel and leaves the armoury.

At the very least, he won’t have to worry about Merlin getting out of there himself, he thinks bitterly as he makes his way to his chambers.

* * *

In the coming days, Arthur finds very quickly that there is a myriad of problems with wanting to avoid Merlin.

First of all, every nook and corner of the castle and its grounds is littered with memories or little traces of the idiot. If they’re not, it’s other servants or his knights who have caught on way too quickly that there’s something wrong between the two of them and are set to stick their noses where they don’t belong.

Then, the longer he thinks about it, the more questions pile up, and getting an answer to even a fraction of them is impossible without talking to Merlin. The mere idea makes him want to flee and fight and hide away all at the same time.

Last but not least, he already _misses_ him, and not only because George is unbearable on the best of days. It’s rather cruel that not even anger and betrayal are enough to stop himself from turning around to make a quip at Merlin, from searching every room for the familiar mop of hair. From noticing the sudden absence that seems to consummate his days.

More than once, he catches himself halfway to Gaius’ chambers to tell Merlin that none of it matters before he remembers just how much he cannot do that.

Because while he misses him like hell, it still feels like a physical wound in the middle of his chest, festering away the more he understands how much of himself Merlin kept hidden from him.

It’s maybe that what hurts most; how Arthur has all but laid himself bare to Merlin, had nearly taken the final step to reveal everything down to his innermost secrets, while Merlin – well. The more he thinks about it, the more he sees how shallow his picture of Merlin actually is, and he wonders if he can even call it love if he doesn’t know him at all.

Not maybe – it’s without question the worst part of it, even though it probably shouldn’t be, considering that he’s the King and Merlin committed one of the worst cases of treason Camelot has seen in recent history.

Or at least since Morgana, and that’s a comparison Arthur ignores with all his might because the mere idea is something he can’t bear on top of everything else.

Between taking out his mounting frustration on his knights and shutting himself away in his chambers to pace holes into the ground, it’s not much of a surprise that Guinevere confronts him in the second week of what he has privately dubbed ‘ _The overdue examination of the woes of being King Arthur and his traitorous subjects._ ’

Not that he’d ever voice that out loud, but he thinks he deserves some melodrama, for once.

It’s glaringly obvious in Guinevere’s expression that he won’t be able to brush her off, but perhaps talking to someone who’s not Merlin might actually help.

It should probably worry him, the realisation that it’s usually Merlin who gets him through these situations, but there’s not enough anger to ignore how Merlin had never led him wrong.

“Right, so what’s going on?” she asks as soon as the door clicks shut behind her. “I’ve just talked to Merlin and he looks absolutely miserable. He didn’t say a word about what happened, just that it’s not your fault and there’s nothing to be done.”

Her tone is even, but he still can’t shake the sense of an underlying accusation. It’s less pronounced than in Gwaine’s pointed questions or Leon’s contemplating frowns that aren’t nearly as subtle as he likes to believe, but it’s clear that everyone thinks it’s Arthur who’s responsible for the stony silence that seems to infect the whole castle.

Sighing, he runs a hand over his face before gesturing for her to take a seat in front of the fire.

For long moments, they sit in silence as he ponders if he should share Merlin’s secret with her, and how. While it’s not his place to tell her, he also doubts that Merlin would breathe a single word – if only to spare Arthur the confrontation with anyone else.

And he desperately needs someone to talk to.

“Merlin has magic,” he eventually blurts out, and he instantly winces at the total lack of subtlety.

Her hands still where they’re smoothing out her dress, and she stares at him with wide eyes. After a beat or two, her startled expression melts into considerate and she tilts her head slightly. “Are you sure?”

He offers her a weak smile and shrugs. “I saw it, I heard him admit it, and then he confirmed it. But that’s not even – I know, I should be wary and not believe a word he says, but… I don’t doubt that he’s loyal to Camelot, just – “

“Not to Camelot,” she interrupts, and she doesn’t bother hiding that she thinks him a bit dense. “To _you_ , Arthur. Of course he’s loyal, and not doubting it only shows that you’re a smart man.”

He frowns and turns his head away, staring into the glimmering remains of the fire. “How can you – aren’t you angry that he lied to you for all these years? Or at least disappointed?”

“I am,” she answers, and he can hear it now, the distant note of betrayal he has once again become well-acquainted with over the last two weeks. “But – “ she starts, then sighs and draws her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s _Merlin_ , and well, it’s not something you share easily, is it? If I know him at all, it’s probably not only the threat of execution that kept him from telling us but something ridiculously noble.”

“There’s nothing noble in lying,” he says immediately, his hands clenching around the armrests of the chair.

Only when she squeezes his wrist does he notice how tense he is and exhales a measured breath. “It’s just – I can understand why he wouldn’t tell me while my father was still alive, but it has been _four years_. He told me that he doesn’t really believe I’d execute him, so why would he still not tell me?”

There’s a look in her eyes that tells him that he won’t like what she’s going to say next, but that she’s going to say it anyway. “Arthur, only Merlin can give you the answer to that.”

Ah yes, that would warrant it, and he can’t help the way his lips turn down into a scowl.

She merely smiles, even though her eyes are understanding. “You’ll have to speak with him eventually, and whatever that conversation brings up – certainty will be better than stewing in your own thoughts.”

Of course, he knows that she’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier. “How am I even supposed to believe a word he says?”

“Oh Arthur,” she sighs, getting to her feet. “Merlin may be good at deflecting, I’ll give him that, but he’s still a shitty liar.”

That manages to get a genuine laugh out of him and he smiles up at her. “Perhaps you’re right. I just…”

“You’re afraid that you won’t like the answers,” she states simply, and damn her for knowing him so well. “But the lack of answers will also drive you mad, so really – what’s the worst that can happen?”

There are several scenarios that have been running through his head on repeat, but he really doesn’t want to share any of them with her – or anyone else for that matter.

Getting to his feet, he squeezes her shoulder. “Thank you. I’ll think about it, alright?”

“Good. Having both of you mope around the castle is bad for morale, you know?”

He snorts and shakes his head, watching as she walks over to the door. “I’ll keep it in mind. Give Lancelot my regards.”

“He’d be happier if you didn’t run him ragged in training, my Lord,” she says dryly and disappears from his room without giving him a chance to answer.

A small part of him wonders if he has to fear a rebellion if he decides to banish Merlin; another one insists that he wouldn’t even blame them because honestly, he might do the same if he was in their place.

* * *

It takes him another couple of days to finally muster up the courage to confront Merlin.

The anger has faded, for the most part, giving room for all the hurt and disappointment, and maybe he’s just scared that he won’t manage an actual confrontation if he waits any longer, or maybe the increasingly obvious glares from everyone around him are finally getting to him. Either way, he’s finally standing in front of the door to the physician’s chambers with resolve held firmly in his chest. 

It’s Gaius who opens the door upon his hesitant knock, and his expression melts into one of stony displeasure as soon as he spots Arthur. He’s not sure whether he’s too used to it by now or simply too nervous to care.

“Sire,” Gaius greets, his voice lacking warmth as his whole posture does, but he still inclines his head. “I was just heading out to see to some patients. I trust you will be fine without my presence?”

And really, Arthur might have bristled at the implied warning if he wasn’t so tired of all this.

“Of course,” he answers with a sigh, and he’s certain that his smile comes across as more of a grimace. Gaius seems to appreciate it nonetheless, his whole demeanour softening ever so slightly.

The workshop looks as clustered as it always does, books and potions and meticulously labelled jars of ingredients cluttering every available surface, but Arthur’s eyes immediately zero in on the hunched form of Merlin at one of the tables, sitting frozen and still like he never should be.

Neither of them speaks while Gaius grabs his bag and leaves with a meaningful look in Merlin’s direction and a hesitant one in Arthur’s. The click of the door sounds too loud in the following silence.

There are a thousand things Arthur has planned to say; from shouting to pleads, there’s barely anything he didn’t consider when he pictured how this might play out.

Ironically, speechlessness is the only thing he didn’t plan on, and he’s not sure what to make of the sudden urge to drink in as much of Merlin as he possibly can. He looks tired; his skin is even paler than usual, and there are dark shadows underneath his eyes that speak of too little sleep. The exhausted picture is contrasted by a hesitant, hopeful brightness in his eyes though as he watches Arthur.

It shouldn’t flood him with warmth, that his presence makes Merlin hopeful instead of scared, but Arthur is _tired_. Tired of being lied to, of lying to himself, and maybe this is all that he’s going to get but damn him if he doesn’t take it.

The silence wraps around them, stretching and twisting as if it’s determined to increase the intangible distance. Arthur wants to stop it; wants to hold on to what they used to be, to ignore everything that’s happened over the last few weeks, but he doesn’t know how. He can see the hope melt away with each passing second, resignation taking over its place.

He nearly jumps when Merlin gets up and walks around the table to lean against it, and he hates himself for the wince his reaction elicits.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says, again, and it’s only the second time but Arthur is already getting tired of hearing it.

It still breaks the impasse, somehow, and all the things he has tried to ignore come flooding back in an instant. “Are you, though? Or are you sorry that you got caught?” he asks, and he knows that he sounds like an arsehole but the question has been circling, over and over, in his mind ever since Merlin said those words for the first time.

To his credit, Merlin doesn’t flinch but seems to actually consider it, his head tilting while his eyes never leave Arthur.

“I’m sorry for the lies,” he finally says, his voice quiet but firm. “For not telling you sooner. For making you feel like I don’t trust you, and for the way you had to find out. But if you’re asking if I’m sorry for the magic – then no. I can’t be sorry for who I am, for something that allowed me to save your life because seeing you well and happy is all I ever wanted.”

“I’m not,” he says, the words slipping past his lips before he can stop them, too focused on not staggering under the weight of Merlin’s avowal. “Why didn’t you tell me? At least after my father’s death – you said you didn’t really believe that I’d – I’d sentence you to death. So _why didn’t you tell me_?”

He can’t even find it within himself to care how close to begging he sounds, and Merlin twitches in response as if he wants to reach out but stops himself before he can.

Merlin’s fingers twist the sleeves of his tunic, and there’s a sad, resigned gleam to his eyes that Arthur wants to wipe away. “I wanted to – Gods, Arthur, you don’t know how many times I wanted to, from the first time I met you, to every single day after that. Obviously, in the beginning, I was scared for my life, and when I realised that you’re nothing like your father…” he trails off, his eyes leaving Arthur’s face for the first time and settling somewhere to his right.

“Then what?” he finally asks when Merlin stays silent, his hands clenching behind his back until he can feel his nails painting crescents into his palms.

“I didn’t want you to be forced to choose between your loyalty and love for your father and me. The longer I waited, the more – “ Merlin breaks off again, shadows passing over his face that are familiar to Arthur from knights who have seen too much in battle. It’s only for the fraction of a second, but it’s there, and the following words only confirm the fear that’s suddenly taking root in his chest.

“And then I did so many things I’m not proud of – not because they kept you alive but because I could’ve made better decisions. I could’ve prevented so many horrible things, and I don’t know how to explain to anyone, much less _you_ , how I still don’t regret any of those choices,” Merlin finishes, a distant quality to his voice that makes him sound as if he’s far away from the clustered workshop they’re in.

Arthur doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t think _‘No man is worth your tears’_ is going to cut it, and so he does what he does best. “Merlin, just because you have a bit of magic – “

A choked noise escapes Merlin’s throat and he looks like he can’t decide if he should laugh or cry. “Arthur – “

“Oh, come now,” Arthur answers, desperate to regain some of their teasing, anything to wipe that anguished expression off of Merlin’s face. “I thought about it and alright, I can see a few too many conveniently falling branches and tripping bandits, but what else could you have possibly done?”

For a moment, it looks like a smile is working its way on Merlin’s face, but then he straightens and a crease forms between his brows. “You need to know, Arthur, to understand. I’m – I don’t want to hide anymore, and you can’t make a decision without really grasping – “

“Then tell me,” he snaps, harsher than he means to, but his emotions are all over the place and nothing is as it should be; it can’t get much worse than it is, right?”

Merlin merely nods despite his tone and meets his eyes head-on. There’s still wariness in his gaze but his voice doesn’t waver. “I killed Nimueh when I saved your life after you were bitten by the Questing Beast. I fatally wounded Morgause when I spilt the Cup of Life to kill the immortal army. I defeated Cornelius Sigan, I killed Agravaine, I’m the last Dragonlord and the one who freed the great dragon, I’m at least partly responsible for Morgana turning against Camelot because I poisoned her when the castle was under the Sleeping Spell. I was the one who took her magic the last time she invaded Camelot. I tried – “

“Stop,” Arthur presses out, his voice merely more than a croaked whisper and he can feel himself swaying on his feet. “Are you _trying_ to make me doubt you? Because if you do, you’re doing a horrible job at it.”

The list is mad, absolutely insane, and Arthur would love to believe that Merlin made at least half of it up, but he can see the truth in his eyes. He can also see how much it pains Merlin to admit even a fraction of it, and if he was looking for proof of Merlin’s devotion, it couldn’t have been clearer than this. Merlin, who loathes hunting with a burning passion but _murdered people_ just to keep Arthur safe.

None of this should’ve ever been necessary, much less without Arthur being aware of it.

“But – “

“No Merlin,” he interrupts, and he has no idea where he takes the strength from but he _needs_ Merlin to understand; to see what Arthur sees, to believe that there’s absolutely nothing he can say that will undermine the certainty that’s spreading all through Arthur’s chest.

“Only you would go and list all the things you consider the worst you have done just to convince someone that they shouldn’t take your magic lightly. And believe me, you’re going to spend a lot of time explaining over the next few days,” he says, and he’s helpless against the fond smile that’s tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Merlin’s staring at him with wide, confused eyes and there’s a faint tremble in his hands that he doesn’t even bother to hide. But there’s also that flicker of hope again, a warmth bleeding into his expression that soothes out the tension and is the exact same look he usually tries to hide whenever Arthur looks at him. 

Maybe it’s that, the fact that for the first time, Arthur looks at him and feels like Merlin lets him see everything; maybe it’s the time they spent apart that could’ve been avoided if Arthur was less stubborn. Or maybe it’s the sheer relief of the confirmation that this is still _Merlin_. Idiotic, too good-hearted, selfless Merlin who never once let Arthur down even when everyone else did.

Whatever it is, Arthur doesn’t think about it, doesn’t care as he crosses the distance between them, buries his hands in Merlin’s hair and presses their mouths together.

It’s barely a kiss, more bumping noses and the sensation of chapped lips but it sends a wave of warmth through him, sends shivers down his spine and to his toes that it makes his head spin.

“That’s what I could never put my finger on,” he murmurs against Merlin’s lips, but before he can kiss him again, Merlin’s hands push against his chest.

Merlin swallows, his eyes roaming over Arthur’s face while his hands stay clenched in the fabric of his tunic. It’s the only reason Arthur doesn’t give in to the sudden fear that he got it all wrong.

“There are still too many things you don’t know, things I did that might change your mind and I can’t – “

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupts, not bothering to hide the note of fond exasperation. It does nothing to calm Merlin down, so he turns serious and brushes his thumbs over Merlin’s jaw. “Listen to me. After everything you’ve done for me, despite the fear for your life, despite the sacrifices you must’ve made, and all the recognition you never received, there is nothing you could tell me that would make me regret this.”

And it’s true, Arthur knows. He’s had enough time since that day in the armoury to understand how much devotion and loyalty a person must have to stay in Camelot in spite of not only his father’s but his own actions against Merlin’s kind.

If it were anybody else, Arthur’s not sure if he could believe that there’s no ulterior motive – hell, even with Merlin it took him a while.

Merlin’s eyes shine with tears but for the first time this night, there’s a small, genuine smile playing around his mouth. Arthur’s not sure that he has ever seen something more beautiful, and this time, their kiss is slow and soft, their lips brushing against each other as hot breath mingles between them.

Pressing closer, Arthur wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist. Every breath is accompanied by the smell of herbs and earth, soap and something distinctively Merlin that makes him want to drown in it; makes him want to stay in this moment and never let go again, to forget about the world that’s lying beyond this room.

Merlin runs his fingers over his jaw before he tangles them in the hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck, and he’ll deny the whimpering sound that escapes him until his dying breath when Merlin runs his tongue along his bottom lip.

His heart is racing a mile per minute and his head is spinning, everything narrowing down to the feeling of being pressed against Merlin, _finally_ , to the sounds escaping both of them, to the warmth every single touch leaves in its wake.

Eventually, Merlin pulls back, panting slightly and hiding a smile in Arthur’s neck. “I don’t think this is what Gaius meant for us to do when he left us alone.”

“I feel like I should be worried if you can still think about Gaius,” Arthur grumbles, but he has to hide his wide grin in Merlin’s hair when it’s only answered by a snort.

They stay silent for a while, wrapped around each other. Perhaps it should be weird, this shift in their relationship after so many years, but at least to Arthur, it feels like it couldn’t have happened at any other time.

Or maybe it could have if Merlin had told him about his magic earlier, but he doesn’t want to go down that road, not when they’re finally where they’re supposed to be.

“We really do need to talk more though before we go further with this,” Merlin finally breaks the silence, his arms tightening around Arthur’s waist.

Arthur sighs because Merlin is right, but he still wishes he could forget about it for a while. “I know, there are a few questions about that list you rattled of,” he says dryly, and he can feel Merlin flinch against him. “I meant what I said, you idiot.”

Merlin pulls back and searches his face before he allows himself a small smile and leans their foreheads together. He looks exhausted, suddenly, and Arthur presses a thumb against his bottom lip.

“Stay with me tonight?” he asks, and even he is surprised by how easily the words come. At Merlin’s startled look, he shakes his head and presses his lips to his forehead. “Just to sleep. I have it on good authority that you’re more effective than any of the guards I keep in front of my door.”

That gets Merlin to relax again and he leans most of his weight against Arthur. “Well, I can’t argue with that logic.” 

* * *

It’s nearly a month later that Arthur wakes up to faint sunlight streaming through a small gap in the curtains, and he smiles at the warmth that spreads through him when he takes in the sight to his right.

Merlin’s stretched out next to him, the blueish light of the morning playing on the pale skin of his back where it’s exposed, the sheets tangled around his hips.

Arthur shifts and traces a finger over the many scars, recalling their stories he now knows of. He’d never realised how Merlin always kept himself carefully dressed until Arthur lay eyes on him without a shirt on. It’s been like a punch to the face, the visual evidence of everything Merlin had done for him, of all the parts of Merlin’s life he had been ignorant of. Of how close he had come to losing him without even knowing.

No matter how comparably easy their first talk went, it didn’t exactly set the course for the following weeks.

Arthur learnt of things he couldn’t have come up with in his wildest nightmares; learnt of prophecies and destiny, of plots and betrayals he had never been aware of and accomplishments he had claimed that weren’t his own. He’s seen the grief for all the people Merlin lost along the way who Arthur never knew, and he’s still not sure that he can forgive himself for not noticing. For not asking more insistently, for buying mediocre excuses and letting himself get distracted.

He also learnt of his mother’s death. Of Uther’s lies and subsequently Merlin’s.

Out of everything Merlin has told him, the last is what came close to breaking them; there had been so much shouting and tears, so much hurt on Arthur’s part that he couldn’t look at Merlin for a week.

He all but fled the castle to go hunting, and it was only thanks to Gaius waiting for him when he returned that he managed to let go of his anger – or rather redirect it. He’s not sure what he would’ve done if his father was still alive, and perhaps Merlin did have a point when he stopped him from committing patricide but it doesn’t quell the ache that’s still pulsing in his chest whenever he thinks about it too much.

In the end though, Gaius had told him about Ygraine, had broken the promise he made to Uther to take any and all knowledge to his grave. And Arthur had understood then, truly and maybe for the first time, when hearing of her kindness and her courage, that he is as much her son as he is Uther’s.

 _‘No more lies,’_ Merlin had promised the night Arthur finally forgave him, pressing the words into every inch of skin he could reach, whispering them over and over as if he had to reassure himself as much as Arthur.

 _‘No more destiny to carry on your own,’_ Arthur had promised in return, and neither of them had left Arthur’s chambers the next day, too drained out to deal with anything but themselves.

What saved their relationship, saved _them_ , in the end, was most likely that Merlin gave as good as he got, didn’t back down from his decisions, and made Arthur see his reasoning one way or another. He could admit that it wasn’t always good, but Arthur had to make enough difficult decisions in his life to understand, once his anger dissipated.

It wasn’t easy, but then, they never really had been.

He’s pulled back to the present when Merlin shifts beside him, a hand coming up to tangle into Arthur’s hair.

“You’re awake,” Merlin murmurs, and he would roll his eyes at the surprise in his voice if the fingers carding through his hair weren’t so distracting.

To be fair, there’s a reason why he woke up early for once. He had planned this, sketched out the exact scenario of how he wants the morning to go down. With Merlin’s hand still in his hair and the way he’s currently looking at Arthur, warm with sleep and eyes so very intent on him, it all flies out of the window.

“I’m going to repeal the ban,” he says softly, and wonders if there will ever come a time where Merlin doesn’t crash through all his defences. He dearly hopes not.

Merlin stills and his eyes grow wide, all remains of sleep vanishing in an instant. “Are you – do you really mean it?” he whispers, and his voice is thick with emotions as his throat works.

Lifting a hand to Merlin’s cheek, he smiles. “Of course I am. If everything you have done for me didn’t convince me that magic isn’t evil in itself, the garden you grew in my chambers certainly did.”

And he’s not even joking even though he sounds like it. The pure, unadulterated happiness on Merlin’s face when he grew flowers from stone and created butterflies from nothing after Arthur asked him to show him magic, is something he will never forget.

“Besides, it’s our destiny, isn’t it?” he adds, letting his smile stretch into a grin at Merlin’s still astonished expression. “Who am I to defy fate?”

Merlin exhales a measured breath, his head bowing slightly, and there’s a sudden hesitance to his voice that makes Arthur’s heart ache. “I wouldn’t – you don’t have to do this for me, you know this, right?”

“Oh but I’m not,” he teases, but as he takes in the tears brimming in Merlin’s eyes, the shaking of his hands, the way he bites his lips, Arthur presses his fingers more firmly against his jaw. “You don’t have to shoulder this alone anymore, Merlin. You were never supposed to, and we’re going to do this together – just like you’ve carried my crown with me for all these years.”

There’s a pause and then Merlin crashes their lips together, his hands frantic on Arthur’s shoulders and his chest as he presses closer. “I love you,” he presses out between kisses, and Arthur can do nothing but hold on, to run his hands through Merlin’s hair and let himself be swept away in the sensation.

He’d change every single law his ancestors ever installed if it meant that he gets to have this.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Obviously, they all live happily ever after. :D 
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://queerofthedagger.tumblr.com/)


End file.
